


Poison for Poison

by blasted0glass



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Blood Donation, Chemistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blasted0glass/pseuds/blasted0glass
Summary: Donating blood usually saves lives.
Kudos: 4





	Poison for Poison

“This is going to sting a bit.”

“I’m ready.” It’s only in the clinical setting that they warn you.

I look away. There is a pinching sensation as the needle slides into my arm. The technician--Eric, his nametag says--covers the tiny wound with a single piece of gauze. It's politeness: some people prefer a veil over their injuries.

Eric stands up and watches the machine as my blood runs down the tube. A cuff on my arm stiffens. The blood flows faster and chambers are filled. A drip starts. He sticks four little vials into a socket on the line. One-by-one they are filled.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back to check on you.” I don’t respond. The technician walks away, my samples in hand.

I feel my eyes narrow. The last four times I did this--at different centers, of course--they only took three samples. I wonder where the fourth is headed. I glance at the clock; it’s the top of the hour. I send a text.

A few minutes later he’ll be back to check my first return. I am donating platelets. It’s a bit of an ordeal. At least the donation center is quiet; there are only two other victims here today. A young man and woman, absorbed in their entertainment. They sit across from me, away from the larger machines. They are donating whole blood.

Whole blood is quick and easy. They stick you, you fill a bag of less than 500ml, and then they wipe you off and send you on your way. You get a snack and some water on the way out. It’s ostensibly to help you regenerate, but it actually helps trick your body into not fainting. The snack also tricks you into staying around long enough so they’ll know if you’ll faint--if you can’t eat and walk, you need to sit.

When you donate a blood product, however, it isn’t as easy as whole blood. You must dedicate more time. Time for the machine to take a sip, spin it in a centrifuge, then spit it back into your waiting veins.

I have to admit the centrifuge is a neat machine. It can be set to keep any part of the blood that passes through it. Platelets, or plasma, or red blood cells; fat, or salt, or iron. Each with a different life-saving utility, a different chemical profile. I happen to know platelets have the most calories.

Platelets also take the most time. They are little fragmented cells, sticky things that make your wounds close. The substance is mostly fat that grows in the bones. In a bag they are yellow, on a slide they are purple. When the centrifuge has extracted enough they’ll be pumped up and into a waiting container, like chicken broth through a straw.

I look at the bag. There are no platelets, yet. I am early in the process. Eric is still in the back. I know he is testing one of my vials, to see how many platelets are available in my blood.

The machine takes some time to ramp up. It starts from a sedate pace and pressure. If the first return goes well, it will go faster and faster until it hits the limit of pressure in my veins. Even at max rate I’ll be here for close to two hours. A long time to be injured and immobile. I smile.

This is one of my more creative ideas. But it’s _my_ idea. That’s why I’m here, and the others are outside. There is a beeping sound. Eric returns. He disconnects the bag of saline that hangs near me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Changing your bag,” he says. “This one is low; we wouldn’t want to run out, would we?”

“I guess not.” The beeping stops when he pushes a button.

“The computer says a triple. Is that alright with you?” I feel the cuff loosen, and a tightening in my elbow. The blood is being pumped back in.

“Yeah, absolutely.” So much the better for my plans. I’m a big guy; I can donate three units of platelets at once, and still have plenty to spare. That’s another reason why I’m here instead of the others. Eric pushes another few buttons to confirm the amount before he walks away.

Taking out three units of blood would be dangerous, if it wasn’t for the fact that everything except the platelets gets put back. I’ll never be missing more than a film-canister’s worth of whole blood. Looking to the right, I can see the red-tinged plastic chamber. It’s almost empty.

The cuff tightens again. I squeeze my fist. My blood is being drawn. The container begins to fill. This cycle will repeat a hundred times before I leave.

I look around the room again. Eric must have gone back to his testing equipment. I wish I could see out the window, but the blinds are drawn. The other two patients are ignoring me, as is polite. The woman is wearing headphones, and the man is reading a book. I wouldn’t tolerate a deadening of senses like that. The TV is going. I spend a few seconds reading the subtitles before I look away and toward Eric, who has returned to sit on the other side of the clinic.

Waiting is a challenge I’m still not used to. I let the machine work. A check of the time. When the clock says ten after, I send another message. My lips begin to tingle. It’s a symptom of the process.

Your body doesn’t _want_ to give up blood. It tries to stem the flow however it can. That’s the biological role of platelets--to be the first turn in the tide of blood loss. In the case of something like a scratch or a bite they are excellent sentries, absolutely capable of patching a hole. Like leaves clogging a drain. But the precision strike of a needle that draws from the center of a vein--the body isn’t prepared for an injury like that. If I yanked the tube out of the machine but not out of my arm, and waited long enough, I very well might bleed to death.

A needle doesn’t change the nature of blood. It wants to coagulate. They have to add something to your blood to keep it liquid while it is outside of your body. I remember to check my phone; too early for the next message.

That something is citrate. Sodium citrate becomes calcium citrate and disrupts coagulation; without calcium, the platelets can’t stick to each other. A depletion to disable their function. The blood I’d lose if I yanked the tube would stay liquid for far too long, because my blood is now full of citrate.

Calcium also plays a role in the nervous system. Hence the tingling in my lips. I wave Eric over. He gives me a calcium tablet, which will restore the calcium in my blood and nerves. Somewhat. Not all the way, or the citrate wouldn’t work. The tingling gets better, but my mouth still feels dry. I drink a sip of water with my left hand. My right arm is busy, after all.

Really, citrate is better than hirudin, the protein that leeches use to keep their victims bleeding. It’s far better than the ham-handedly named Draculin, a protein in a bat’s saliva.

As a needle is to teeth, citrate is to natural anti-coagulants. So much more precise, so much more reversible. They can pull out the needle, and they can also make blood thick again. Temporary injuries.

Twenty minutes after the hour. Another message sent.

Eric chooses that moment to sit down in front of me. His countenance has changed; he no longer holds himself as a mere technician at his day job. It sets me on edge. I put down my phone--I can’t stick in my pocket without shifting, which might disrupt the needle in my arm.

We stare at each other. The machine reverses direction twice before either of us speak. When he talks it’s shocking and fast, like a pinch on the arm, but his words are as precise as any needle.

“Has anyone explained to you why blood donors are forbidden to take aspirin?”

“Because it makes your blood thin,” I say. “You might get a bruise, or something.” It’s a half-right answer. I glance at the other two in the clinic. Both are whole blood patients. Shouldn’t they be finished by now?

They stare back at me. I blink. My vision is blurry.

“Actually, the restriction is a consideration for the recipient. Blood thinners make you bleed more--not a good state to be in, for anyone that finds themselves needing blood. Chemicals added to blood do not disappear after the blood is removed, of course.” He stares at a long fingernail. “I suppose the laboratory can remove _some_ contaminants, if they are known to be present. That is not my domain.”

“Fascinating,” I say. He reaches toward me and takes my phone; I’m unable to react fast enough to stop him. Even though it’s my left hand, I should have been quicker than that.

“Oh, it’s been locked. How unfortunate. I was going to look some things up for you.” He doesn’t give me the phone back. “Maybe you can unlock it later.”

I’m in deep trouble, not least because I'm having a hard time imagining how much trouble I'm in. I glance at the clock on the wall; a delay might save me.

“Donors answer questions about other medications and illegal drugs for the same reason as aspirin,” he continues. “It would be a shame to put those things in someone… not expecting them.”

“Makes sense. What’s your point?” My lips continue to tingle. I lick them; my mouth is dry. Dozens of medications cause that side effect--but it isn't a symptom I expect from citrate. I glance at the machine. I can see the chamber with a film-canister’s worth of my blood in it. It fills ever-so-slowly. Finally the return starts. I relax my grip, at least until the draw starts again.

“What have you been adding to your blood?” asks Eric.

“What do you mean?” I know what he means. Behind him, the other two are unhooking themselves.

“You know what I mean. We noticed the diallyl disulfide. A poison.”

“Poisonous to _insects_ ,” I say. “It’s an antioxidant. Helps _human_ livers function. Helps _humans_ deal with poisons, actually.” It's a fascinating chemical. It causes one's body to produce glutathione S-transferase, a enzyme that binds oxidative species in the cell. Oxidative stress has a large negative effect on anything that breathes oxygen; it's responsible for inflammation and aging. Diallyl disulfide also kills bacteria--they give it to people before intestinal surgery.

“Not something you’d normally inject," says Eric.

“I’m adventurous,” I say. It's a lie. I'm not adventurous; I'm practical.

“You certainly are,” says Eric. He shakes his head. “Did you think we would fail to notice? Every bag is tracked, every patient is photographed and entered into the system. _And it makes your blood smell like shit_.”

“I thought you were more removed from the process,” I say. I find it hard to speak past the dryness in my mouth. “Don’t you typically make humans do the… the dirty work?”

“We are not above menial tasks. Don’t act so surprised to see me here.”

“I used different names. Not mine… not the same donation center…” Why am I telling him this? Most people can't feel when their inhibitions are reduced--central nervous system depression dampens ones ability to introspect, along with everything else. But I've noticed. I glance at the clock again, feeling my head overbalance on my neck.

“How do you feel? Need anything?”

“No. I…wait a minute. It’s daytime. What are you doing here?”

“It doesn’t matter what it’s like out there,” he says. The machine starts to beep. Eric punches some buttons; its operation slows. “Your heart rate went up. I was going to say that even if it’s daytime, it is dark enough _here_. We can take as much time as we need.”

“What have you done to me?”

“You are not the only one who has thought of crushing up plants and injecting them.” He smiles wide for the first time, making me flinch. In addition to being effective weapons, canines are the teeth that animals use to keep their food in place while they tear into it.

“Which?” I ask.

“Henbane, if you must know.” Stinking nightshade. Ironic.

“That’s definitely poison.” An anesthetic, and anti-nausea agent. Most nightshades will kill you if you get too much. Their psychoactive and poisonous properties are not a coincidence; neurotransmitters are typically low-grade poisons. It's a strategy that large animals use so that parasites can't take over their bodies. Ants, snails, fish--these animals can't handle poison in the blood like humans can, and are subject to infestations. Humans, with their inherent self-poisoning, are supposed to be immune.

"We didn't choose Henbane to save you from _nausea_." Had I been speaking aloud? "At any rate, do you dislike the reversal? A taste of your own medicine?” He put his head in a hand. “I don’t feel sympathy.”

“I get my chemicals from a lab.”

“Ah, yes. It would be safer that way, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you tell me which laboratory is assisting you. In fact, why don’t you tell me everything about your allies.”

I start to talk about my laboratory, but I remember to stop myself. I don’t have to answer Eric’s questions. Another glance at the clock; It’s twenty-eight after.

“You do that so often,” Eric says. “Are you expecting backup? Our… servants… noticed the woman outside. She has been dealt with.”

That would be Allison. He sees my face pale--or maybe notices it lose its ruddy color. I can feel myself flushing. Blushing is a human reaction to indicate social remorse; it's also a side-effect of vasodilators, that is, any chemical that relaxes smooth muscles. Eric's face, in contrast, is a pale as death. He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand why you attacked us,” he says. The machine beeps again. He pushes a button. "Did you know that your blood pressure is falling?"

“You eat humans.”

“We eat their _blood_ ,” he says. “Not the same thing. Isn’t this the kindest way to live? No deaths, no accidental turnings. A _humane_ option.”

“You treat us like cattle.”

“Dairy cows, rather than beef.” He glances at the platelets the machine has extracted from me. The bag has started to fill. “Even if the milk is sometimes spoilt.”

“You still kill people.”

“Only people who interfere.”

“People who stumble on information.”

“Interference,” he says. “At any rate, we kill far fewer than before.”

“Far more… than if you didn’t exist at all.”

“Is that how you justify your attack against us?” He smiled again. “Fair enough. It is how we justify ours against you.”

I feel sleepy. “It’s so stupid… it’s the first thing anyone jokes about…”

“Yes, it is,” says the vampire. “And that is how we prefer it. An absurdity to conceal a truth--too obvious a possibility for anyone to take seriously.”

“I… took it seriously.”

“You did. And you are in a serious situation indeed. I’ll let you know that you managed to kill three of us; congratulations are in order. If I were a cruel person, I’d turn you and let you fill out the ranks.” He leans back. He can’t turn me now; my blood is far too toxic to him for him to consider biting me.

“If you weren’t a cruel person?”

“I’m not. The three you killed were peons--meaningless. Food tasters for the King. Goons--” he says, laughing and pointing at the machine-- “who lost their jobs to automation! They don't require replacements at all. After this is done, I’ll just let you go down the drain.”

“Good news... for me.”

He laughs some more. “Alright. It’s time to start answering questions. Who are your other allies?”

“I have four,” I say. I can’t help it. “Or three, I guess.” They had gotten Allison. I feel tears start to come to my eyes. Tears are another autonomic response that serve as a social indicator. I don't think Eric is moved by them, but autonomic responses don't broker any arguments.

“Only four? We know that your organization is far larger than that.”

“Four with me.”

“What?”

“On this mission.” I look at the clock; now it is thirty-four minutes past the hour. I’ve missed my check in by almost five minutes.

The door bursts open. Jacob marches in, a lamp on his shoulder. Beth and Scott are on his heels. They have guns, but they won’t use them unless Jacob fails in his task. Beth also has something in her other hand.

Eric jumps to his feet. He screams and lunges forward to attack. It’s a mistake. The lamp is powerful. Ultraviolet light is just the right wavelength to cause thymine dimer formation in DNA. For humans and other large organisms, such damage is easy to bear. It can eventually cause a burn. Humans are covered in a layer of dead skin to protect them from things like that. Microorganisms, on the other hand, have no skin. They can't afford any disruption in their tiny genomes. Before my very eyes Eric's skin starts to burn and slough off as the things holding it together are destroyed.

He turns to run, but Beth throws her secondary weapon. We call them ‘water balloons’, but they’re more like grenades. It explodes. Water splashes everywhere. Water is called the universal solvent. It's a medium for diffusion, a coolant with a high latent heat of vaporization, and a charged solvent whose polarization pushes proteins into the shapes they need to adopt to function. Cell walls use water to hold themselves together. All living things depend on it to facilitate the chemical reactions in their bodies.

All except those rare few that are hurt when chemical reactions are allowed to proceed. Eric begins to screech and dissolve. The wounds that the light opened are frothing.

The other two vampires are fighting now.

A lot of things happen. I’m too drugged to follow. Before long the battle is over. The three vampires are all dead, and my three allies--my remaining allies--are still alive.

“Allison,” I say. Scott yanks the needle from my arm and starts to bandage the wound. He doesn’t use the gauze at the clinic--he uses his own.

“Don’t worry, mate,” he says. “We’re just about to go get ‘er. Can you stand?”

“Maybe…” I manage. I feel woozy.

"You're awfully red."

“He said it was henbane.”

“Ah, righ’. We're dropping you off at the hospital. I’ll take ‘ya to the truck.”

I make it to my feet. “Still across the way?”

“Beth is getting it.” The other two have already walked out the door. I hadn't noticed.

I try to wave him off. “Leave me. Go. Help Allison.”

“How chivalrous,” he says. There is a honking outside. He helps me hobble to the door. “We'll get you to the emergency room. You'll have to wait there while we save 'er.”

**Author's Note:**

> In real life, donating blood saves lives. It benefits people in accidents or who require surgery (whole blood), people with cancer and burns (platelets), and people who need medicine for a variety of diseases (plasma). I recommend donating blood, but only if you are willing to experience pain and the possibility of injury to help a stranger. It is not without risk, which is part of why it is a heroic thing to do.


End file.
